


Prophet's Fall

by SophieTheSmol



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, I really want to actually finish this as I replay DA2, I'll be damned if this keeps me from my novel wip tho, Self Insert, bc that's all my goblin brain is good for, pls kick me if i don't update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-06 00:03:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieTheSmol/pseuds/SophieTheSmol
Summary: A self-insert fic that I'm writing as I play through Dragon Age II again. Not necessarily 100% lore-friendly because I like me some World-Shifter shenanigans. Mostly follows the main story-line.|| Temporarily on Hiatus ||





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lykegenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lykegenia/gifts).

“So, Prophet,” Varric says, leaning back in his chair, “tell me what you think will happen. You have your crystal ball with you, right?”

  
I glare at him over the rim of my teacup. “I don’t need crystal balls to tell you it’s gonna be bad. Darkspawn aside, that expedition is bound to end badly for all involved.” I set the cup down and straighten my back. “I see red. Encroaching madness born from greed. I see the taint of the Darkspawn, and loss, grief. Happy now?”

"You never disappoint, Prophet.”

“My name is Ashe, and you’re encouraged to use it. Of course,” I say, taking the cup into both hands, “the loss and grief part depends on whom you’ll be dragging along. Found someone interesting?”

“Can’t you tell?” Varric drains his own mug and raises an eyebrow when I shrug. “I have, actually.”

“Hawke and her brother, I assume?”

“So you did know!”

“I just love to hear you talk, Varric. Now, do you know what companions Hawke will bring with her?”

Varric shrugs. “No clue.”

“Thought so. Carver, probably. But one more, and that is where things get… interesting.”

A few weeks later, Varric knocks on my door. The woman I live with and work for in Lowtown opens, and shoos me outside, saying something rude about dwarves.

“You hate everyone,” I shoot back at her before the door slams shut behind me. “Well, Varric. I see you’ve brought friends.”

“I did, Prophet. Meet Hawke and Carver.”

I put on my nicest smile and bow to them. “Pleasure to meet you. My name is Ashe. Please stop Varric when he calls me Prophet, the Templars are starting to notice me.”

“Do they think you’re an apostate?” Hawke asks. “Are you an apostate?” She carries her staff in plain view, but most people in Lowtown don’t exactly care, at least not yet.

I shrug and start fiddling with my necklace, a golden lion not much bigger than my thumb nail, and a startlingly orange twenty-sided die. “I don’t much look like one. I don’t carry weapons when I’m out and about, aside from my daggers. I’m decent with them, though, and quick enough to stay out of trouble.”

“Watch your pockets,” Varric suggests. “She’s got quick hands, too.”

“Only if you have books on you,” I say, and stop fidgeting. “I’m more of a scholar, really, but I have a habit of borrowing books and not returning them.”

“She’s a storyteller,” Varric adds. “A good one. But that’s not why we’re here.”

“You’re headed into the Deep Roads? Today?”

“Yes. And,” Varric makes a dramatic pause, “I convinced Bartrand to let you come with us.”

Now, that is a bit of a surprise. “Because I can point you to more treasure?”

“More to prevent ambushes by Darkspawn, really. You did say there were a lot of them.”

“Anders might be better for that. He can sense them, I just get hunches.” That aside, I’m not keen on going into the Deep Roads. Or anywhere near Darkspawn, really, but Varric seems to ignore that. Maybe I shouldn’t have sought him out the moment I got to Kirkwall. I do tend to attach myself to people who give me trouble, sooner or later.

“So.” Varric hold out his hand. “Are you coming?”

With a dramatic, exasperated sigh, I turn back to the house. “Let me get my gear. I’ll meet you in Hightown.” In hindsight, I should have asked Hawke who would be coming along before agreeing to anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Just before I arrive at the meeting point, I pass by Leandra and Carver. I nod to the as I hurry to join the expedition crew, wondering what –or who—else might surprise me. It takes all of my self control to not simply turn around and leave the moment I see Hawke talking to Anders while Fenris glares at both of them. I wish my own staff could go invisible right about now. Hawke notices me and waves me over. “Ashe! I was half expecting you to change your mind.”

“Yes, well.” I suddenly find the floor outstandingly fascinating. “I had to pack in a bit of a hurry.”

“Didn’t you say you’re not an apostate?”

“I never answered that question, actually,” I say. “Besides, I mostly use that staff to whack people on the head.” And I wish I’d left it back in the house, even though I had to hide it from my now former employer. “This had better be worth it, Hawke, or you need a job for me when we get back.”

“Did she kick you out?”

“Pretty much.” That’s all we get to talk about before Bartrand, who generously fails to acknowledge my existence, sets off. The Deep Roads await.

On the way to the Deep Roads entrance, I walk next to Varric, glancing about but doing my level best to not actually look at anyone.

“Scared, Prophet?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Varric shrugs. “Either you’re scared, or you’ve never seen dirt and rocks before.”

“Well, yes, I’m scared. Among other things, anyway.”

That must have piqued his interest. “What other things?”

“Nothing that would affect the expedition, I assure you,” I say, and almost regret opening my mouth because it comes out so harsh he looks almost offended.

“Relax, Ashe. Are you all right?”

I sigh and stretch. “Could be worse, actually. I haven’t seen a particular face since I arrived in Kirkwall, and I’m hoping it’ll stay that way. I tend to have the bad sense to get involved with protagonists… That usually doesn’t end well.”

“Am I hearing one of your prophecies again? Or are you just speaking from experience?”

“Both, really. Hey, Varric, can I ask you a favour?”

He regards me with mild curiosity. “What favour?”

“Please don’t ever mention me in your books. Ever. I’ll try not to do anything crazy, so… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Varric makes a small show of studying my features, seemingly committing them to memory.

“Varric…”

“Don’t worry, Prophet,” he says, giving me a reassuring smile. “But you’ll have to tell me your story eventually.”

“I will, I will. Some day. In ten years, maybe.”

“Already making plans for the grand reveal?”

I sigh, deeply, and refuse to speak for the rest of the day.

The first time we set up camp in the Deep Roads, we draw lots to decide guard duty. I have the wonderful luck of getting a shift with Anders. We sit in slightly awkward silence until I can no longer stand the sound of breathing people around me and quietly ask, “How’s the cat? Ser Pounce-a-lot, was it?”

“How do you know about him?” Anders asks, carefully reaching for his staff.

Oh, shit. “Uh… Didn’t you … talk about him? With Hawke?”

“You weren’t there.”

I scratch my head and stare into the darkness outside the camp. Well, that was not smart. “Don’t mind me, I say odd things sometimes,” I mutter, and hope that’s enough to get my head out of this particular noose.

Anders shifts, and I hear him lean the staff back against the crate next to him. “Or so I’ve heard. Seems Varric calls you ‘Prophet’ for a reason.”

“Yes. That is exactly it.” A second later, I could bite off my own tongue for my carelessness. Anders looks at me with a raised brow until I turn my back to him and find a spot on the floor to stare at. Our turn as guards ends in awkward silence. I know we won’t have too much trouble for a few more days, so I try to cast my worries aside. For the moment, the biggest threat to myself is my loose tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, my favourite place in all of Thedas. I hope everything still makes sense up until now. Feedback is much appreciated! Now back to my research.


	3. Chapter 3

A week into the expedition, we encounter a collapsed tunnel. I had warned Bartrand about that, but also said that we needed to get there before we could find a reliable way around. Which, now, results in me having to traipse around after Hawke and the others, not only to find a way around the cave-in, but also to find Sandal, Bodahn’s boy. Unsurprisingly, we encounter Darkspawn. Lots of Darkspawn. This being the first time in a good while that I’ve had to fight, I prefer relying on my daggers and staying out of the way. I haven’t kept up with my training in magic, and the type I’m most familiar with doesn’t exactly work down here. Or anywhere, really, so far from the Home I made for myself. Two mages on our side are enough, anyway.

I do my best not to get Darkspawn blood on me, which further complicates the situation and leads to too many close calls. “Maker’s Balls,” I mutter, “I didn’t think they’d give me that much trouble.”

“You held your own quite well,” Hawke assures me. “But maybe use your staff next time. What kind of spells do you use?”

“Uh… here… mostly ice, I guess? And sometimes lightning?”

Anders, as suspicious of me as he was the one single time I’ve spoken to him before, chimes in, “You’re not a blood mage, are you?”

“No! Of course not! That’s way more trouble than it’s worth for me.”

He turns away to survey the carnage, but almost startles when I say, innocently, “So, Anders, since it’s topical right now, tell us about Darkspawn. You’re the expert here.”

“They eat suspicious little girls for breakfast,” he mutters.

“I’m not _that_ short!”

“You’re barely five feet tall.”

“Five feet and three inches of unbridled rage, I’ll have you know!” It takes significant effort to keep myself from stomping on the ground. Anders, however, seems hardly impressed.

“So you’re staff’s just for show, then?”

I take a deep breath before I say anything, willing myself to calm down. “I use it to whack annoying mages on the head.”

“You’re an apostate, too.”

“I’m not.”

Varric, sensing this isn’t going to go anywhere productive, pats me on the back. “Just keep telling yourself that, Prophet. Just keep telling yourself that.”

I hear Anders and Hawke snicker as we walk on.

When we find Sandal, I’m the only one not surprised to see him standing in the midst of frozen Darkspawn. I suggest I’ll walk back to the camp with him and give Bartrand an update on how we’re doing, but really, I just want to rest. My body is screaming at me to take it slow, as if I didn’t have almost two years to recover from a pain I don’t feel anyway, considering what I am.

I reach the camp, Sandal in tow, and gratefully take the water Bodahn offers me. By now, I’m tired to the bone and about to pass out, all the while doing my best not to cuss. I don’t want the boy picking up any foul language, for one thing. And it would go against the image most of the expedition crew has of me, an image I’d like to keep. Until the scouting troop around Hawke returns, I simply lean against the wall of the tunnel, eyes closed, and hope to ignore the pain in my chest enough to sleep.

I wake up with a start, clutching at my chest and wheezing. The pain claws its way up and over my shoulders to my back. It dulls momentarily, but when I stand up, it hits me once again, and I nearly double over, gritting my teeth to keep quiet. That, unfortunately, is precisely the moment Hawke returns. While Varric informs Bartrand that there is indeed a way around, she rushes to my side.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”  
I shake my head. “I just… Oof. I just needed a moment to catch my breath.” Still, I accept the shoulder she offers, and lean on her as we walk over to Varric. Before he can ask, I say, “I’m fine. Just rusty. I haven’t kept up with my training.”

“You don’t look fine to me. Are you keeping something from us?”

“Nothing that would burden the expedition, I assure you,” I say. “Trust me.”

He sighs. “I want to.”

I pull away from Hawke and straighten my back, ignoring the fresh jolt of pain. “Look, it’s been almost two years since I’ve been in a serious fight, and I’ve… I haven’t fought Darkspawn before. I’ll get used to it. I won’t be a liability. I promise.”

The conversation ends there, and despite my insistence, when they explore the thaig they found, Hawke orders me to stay back and rest. I begrudgingly obey, but I know what’s coming. Aside from the dragon, anyway, because I forgot that was there, and when I catch up to them with Bartrand, they’ve already found the Red Lyrium. I rush to Hawke’s side, ready to apologise, when Varric tosses the find to Bartrand, who, unsurprisingly (to me, at least), stabs us in the back, metaphorically speaking, and locks us in.

Now I do owe them an apology, and Varric most of all. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“About the Red Lyrium or the dragon?” he snaps, but almost immediately forces himself to calm down and turn away when he sees me flinch.

“Uh. About the Lyrium. I forgot the dragon was here. But really, Varric, I’m sorry. We’ll find a way out. Lots of treasure on the way, I think? It’ll pay off? Like, I know it looks bad right now, but I promise there’s a metric fuckton of treasure waiting for us. After one or two really nasty battles. You know about rock wraiths, right?”

“Are you saying they’re real?”

“Yeah, pretty much? I’ll probably have to hang back when we get there, but…”

He shakes his head. “You’re still not okay, are you? Are you still hurt?”

“Not so much I can’t fight.”

Hawke interrupts, “How much is a ‘metric fuckton’, exactly?”

“Enough to buy your mansion back, at least, and probably set you up for life.” I turn back to Varric. “See, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay, too, by the way. As good as new already.” Still, as we star walking deeper into the tunnels, I can’t help but glance around, expecting someone to show up. But he never does, and I hurry to keep up with the group, using Fenris as a focal point to renew my strength. Can’t have him thinking of me as a liability, especially since he knows I’m a mage. Probably. I’ll have to demonstrate that side of me eventually, what with what’s to come.

“You okay?” Hawke asks. “Can you still walk?”

“’m fine, stop fussing over me. I’ll let you know when I need a break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope I haven't lost anyone yet. I'll try my best to focus more on following the plot now, instead of sticking to my self-insert's struggles (curse you, goblin brain! Write something else for a change!)

**Author's Note:**

> Short start, but I'm sure it'll grow as I write (and get used to the characters again Oof)
> 
> Feedback is appreciated and requested.


End file.
